Faceless
by Noofle
Summary: Mulder and Scully have a strange case on their hands when bodies start turning up without faces, but who are the mysterious couple that seem to be at every crime scene? The Doctor and Donna have a problem of their own...one big, slimy problem...
1. Silent Night

**A/N: thought I would have a go at a crossover fic, so please don't kill me if I make any mistakes. I've never written X Files before, so I'm hoping it's alright. Please review and tell me!

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Chapter One: Silent Night

Rain drummed on the rooftops, streets and pavements of New York, beating out a steady tattoo. For Jeremy Thomas, it was just another day, just another dreary day. He ducked across the street, avoiding the cars as only a city-dweller can. Feet skidding on the wet pavement, he slipped into an alleyway, an old shortcut that he used almost every night. It was full of rotting cardboard boxes and rusty cans, a large dumpster and a rickety fire escape the only defining features.

Jeremy wasn't paying much attention as he hunched his shoulders against the rain and walked down the alley. He was more concerned about what he was going to do, now that he had lost his house. It wasn't that he didn't have enough money to pay the mortgage, he had more than enough. It was his wife, or rather, ex-wife. That conniving witch had stolen his life from underneath him, taking his children and his home with her after the divorce. What was going to do now?

He stopped, and leant against the wall. Where was he even going? He had no home, no warm living room to return to, no caring wife to greet him at the door. He had nothing to go back to, and yet his feet carried him along the same path that he walked every day, wearing down an invisible groove in the concrete of the pavement.

Like every night, he was returning from the pub, returning from drowning himself in the alcohol and the atmosphere. He could fit in there, which was more than could be said for the rest of his life. Maybe that was the cause for the divorce, his incessant drinking. He wasn't an alcoholic; to say that was to admit defeat. At least that's what Jeremy believed.

A door creaking open brought Jeremy back to the real world, and he turned, curious, as the metal door swung inwards on the other side of the alley, revealing a yawning black pit. Two figures emerged after a couple of seconds, and they were the strangest people he had ever seen.

One was a man, as tall as he was skinny, a brown overcoat hanging limply around his figure. He had crazy brown hair which was slicked to the side, though whether it was a product of hair gel or water, it was hard to say. An inane expression graced his face, but his brown eyes were dark and piercing, even from this distance.

The other person was a woman with startlingly orange hair which hung loose around her shoulders, thick with water. She came across as haughty and in control, but it was hard to tell which of the pair was in charge, the man or the woman.

The man held up some kind of device, a whirring chunk of metal that beeped like submarine's sonar when it was scanned across the alley. "The signal's strong. It must be close by."

"It better be, spaceman. I've had enough of running around these alleys after a shadow, and if we don't find it soon, I might just do something to alter your bodily functions." The woman stuck her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin in a classic defiant pose.

The two spoke with foreign accents, and Jeremy thought they must be British, though he was still woozy with drink and couldn't quite tell. If they were foreigners, he was sure they must have a good reason for hanging around in dark alleyways late at night.

The tall man gave the woman a hurt look. "Aww, there's no need to be like that," he said in a whiny voice, waving his device around for effect, "it won't take us long to find it, I promise. I…hold on." He focused his attention on the metal device, grin spreading across his face as it began to beep louder. "It's close," he declared, grabbing the woman by the hand. "Come on."

The two dashed off down the alley, quickly disappearing into the gloom. Jeremy shook his head at the strangeness of it all, and prepared to leave, dragging his leaden feet out into the middle of the alleyway. All was as it had been, with no memory of the strange pair's passing. A grimy newspaper rustled across the concrete, but other than that, everything was still and silent, the rain dampening the spirit of the city.

It was then that Jeremy grew uneasy, glancing back over his shoulder, sure someone was watching him. But there was no one there. The alley was empty. The silent nagging was still there though, tugging at the back of his perception, warning him against something unseen. There was something wrong, and his subconscious knew it, his instinct knew it.

Jeremy shivered, feeling cold not from the rain or wind, but from a presence. Now, he wasn't one to get all supernatural, but he was sure there was something else in the alley, something that numbed him to the core. He froze, but not of his own volition; his legs just simply refused to work. He was immobile, helpless, and unable to fight whatever was doing this.

The creature appeared right in front of him, no longer bothering to hide itself now that its prey was captured. It was a dark night, and shadows laced the alleyway, but Jeremy saw enough of the monster to make him scream. That is, if he was able to scream.

One writhing hand reached out, and stroked along his face, cold and clammy like a fish was slapping against his cheek. This time, a whimper escaped from his lips.

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The Doctor raced back into the alleyway, holding the madly beeping detector out at arm's length. The frantic pulses from the device could only mean one thing; the alien was close and extremely so. But when he and Donna reached the middle of the alley, the beeping died down, the creature having moved out of range.

"Too late, it's gone," the Doctor muttered, tucking the detector into his voluminous pocket.

Donna kicked at a discarded milk carton. "Well, there goes another night of fruitless running."

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed, looking down at his feet. That was when he noticed the body. "Oh dear. We really were too late."


	2. Missing Identity

**Chapter Two: Missing Identity**

The sound of sirens hung in the early morning air, flashing lights staining the buildings in blue and red. Special agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully ducked under the police tape that was blocking off the entrance to an alleyway, breath misting out in the cold morning air. The two FBI agents had been called up at an ungodly hour of the morning, and flown from Washington to New York. That in itself wasn't strange, it happened all the time. What was weird was that they had been given absolutely no information on what had happened. "Very spooky," Mulder had jested during the flight.

The alleyway was cordoned off, but that didn't stop people from hanging around, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of what was going on. That was completely normal, though sometimes Mulder preferred that they didn't. Extra people just got in the way. However, as he and Scully ducked under the police barrier, Fox caught a glimpse of a strange couple, a tall man and a red-headed woman. Their clothes were so different from the rest of the crowd that Mulder couldn't help but staring. The tall man caught his glaze, and gave him a small wave accompanied by a wide grin.

"Are you Mulder?"

Fox tore his eyes away from the strange pair, turning to face the speaker. It was a stocky police officer who looked way out of his depth. "That's me," Mulder said, showing his identification, "Special agent Mulder, and this is my partner, special agent Scully." He gestured to Dana, who forced out a smile while stifling a yawn.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," the officer said as he lead the two FBI agents down the short alley. "We wouldn't have called you, but one of the junior detectives had heard of your reputation and frankly, we have no idea what to do."

"Well, can I see the victim?" Scully asked, rubbing wearily at her eyes, admitting defeat to Mulder, who never seemed to get sleepy when dragged out of bed at insane hours of the night.

While she followed the police officer, Mulder stared around at the cold hard brick walls with their deep black windows. The alley was nondescript, with a dumpster and a fire escape. It was like so many other alleys across the world, and so many people had gone missing in alleys just like this one. He ran his hand along one of the walls, but withdrew it when he felt something sticky.

There was some kind of clear, gelatinous substance coating the tips of his fingers, and when he sniffed it, it gave off a slight fishy odour. He slipped a small evidence bag out of his pocket and, after snapping on a glove, scraped some of the goo, for want of a better term, into the bag. He resealed it, and stuck it back inside his pocket. Whatever that stuff was, it must somehow be linked with the case. He didn't know how, or why he knew, it was just instinct. It seems like he listened to his instincts quite a bit. Still, it usually worked out well in the end. Not the use of the word usually, he added ruefully.

With a resigned sigh, Mulder scanned the crime scene again. There were more officers then they really needed, and most of them were just milling around aimlessly, trying to look busy but failing miserably. One thing that came to his attention was that couple, or rather, the lack of them. With their strange manner of dressing, it was easy to notice they were gone. However, that was the least of his problems.

"Mulder, you better come have a look at this!"

Fox walked over to where Scully was kneeling next to a body under a white sheet. "What is it, what have you found?" he asked, crouching down next to her.

"Have a look for yourself," she replied, lifting back the sheet.

Mulder recoiled from the sight, and he had seen a lot of horrible things during his career. But this, this was just so, wrong. The person he was looking at had just a smooth surface of skin where the face should be. No distinguishing marks, no eyes, mouth or nose. Just smooth skin. "Their identity has been stolen."

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The Doctor hurried across the road, hands tucked deep into his pockets. "He saw you," Donna said, jogging to keep up with the Time Lord's long stride. "That man, he saw you. He looked like government. Maybe FBI. And he saw you."

"It doesn't matter," the Doctor said, exasperated, digging his TARDIS key out of his pocket, and turning a corner. "As they say, we have bigger fish to fry."

Donna frowned at him. "I can see why you never became a comedian."

"Fish? I thought it was rather good." The Doctor shrugged, and spotted the TARDIS, sitting innocuously on an ordinary street corner. He unlocked the door, and slipped inside, not bothering to implement the time-honoured tradition of ladies first. Donna followed him in, more than a little bit angry at being dragged halfway across the universe to New York in 1996 after an alien that they'd only caught the tiniest glimpse of. But that was the Doctor for you, believing he needed no reason to land on an exploding planet or a collapsing building and in fact, that sounded like exactly something he would do.

She quietly closed the door behind her, drinking in the sight of the interior TARDIS. It was all arching beams and curving walls that were so very alien, but at the same time, looked they had been grown, rather than built. Compared to outside, this place was bursting with life. Golden light pulsed within the walls, while green light glowed out from the glass column that rose majestically to the ceiling. This had to be one of the most wonderful places in the universe, and she wasn't going to give it up for anything.

"So," she said, in her usual slightly annoyed tone. "What do we do now, spaceman? You've lost the murdering alien, and we've been spotted by the authorities."

The Doctor rubbed his chin, twiddling with a few buttons on the console. He always seemed to be doing that, even when they weren't in flight. "I'm sure that all I need to do is refine my detector-thing. Widen its range. We'll find it in no time."

"Well, we better. Otherwise more people are going to end up like that bloke last night. Faceless," Donna pointed out, and the Doctor knew that was all too true.

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**A/N: There's the second chapter, written on the fly, hope it isn't too bad. As my friend Deaths-master told me, the title for this story was her idea, so she gets full credit for the title 'Faceless'. The idea for the story was all mine, however. Deary me, just goes to show how weird I am, dunnit?**


	3. On Hotel Rooms and Crappy Service

**Chapter Three: On Hotel Rooms and Crappy Service**

It was raining again when Mulder arrived at the hotel he had picked out for the duration of their stay in New York. Working on the X files, you never knew where you would end up next. There had been that one time in Russia with the black cancer…

He shook his head, and removed the keys from the ignition. So many unsolved mysteries, and this was just one more. Faceless people turning up in alleyways? There had been stories of witches and warlocks stealing people's identities, but he'd never had any accurate reports of people missing their faces. It was like 'invasion of the face-sucking aliens from outer space.' If he weren't so busy working on the X files, he could get a job writing movie scripts.

Mulder smiled at that thought as he got out of the car and adjusted his jacket. He then crossed the road, eyeing the hotel he had chosen. It was a low building, about three or four stories high, lined with verandas and windows. Deciduous trees with orange leaves ringed the building, making it seem picturesque, quaint even. And it was cheap, so that was another bonus.

The front door opened with the tinkle of a bell, and Mulder immediately made his way over to the reception desk. It was unattended, so he whacked the service bell a few times, possible injuring his hand in the process. He was still massaging his hand when the receptionist walked in blearily, cup of coffee in her hand. It made Mulder realise how tired he really was, not that he was going to tell Scully that. No way. May as well continue faking it until he collapsed of exhaustion.

The receptionist attempted, and failed, to stifle a yawn. "What can I do for you?" she queried, groggily trying to hit the enter button on the keyboard about seven times before succeeding in her task.

Mulder watched her attempts with amusement, before responding to her question. "I would like to rent two rooms thanks, preferably close together," he said, tapping the fingers of his non-bruised hand on the desk. "If that's alright with you."

"Yeah," she yawned, rather stand-offishly, and entered a query into the computer. After a couple of seconds, it beeped at her. "Here we go. Rooms 314 and 315 are available. Would that be okay?"

Mulder shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

After a very long and drawn out booking procedure with the half-asleep receptionist, Mulder was heading up the stairs with two keys in his hand. Whoever had built these stairs must have been a health nut; they were far too steep for an ordinary person's legs. He did manage to reach the third floor in one piece, though he was panting heavily by the end of it. The two rooms he rented were down the end of a long, boring hallway with peeling white wallpaper and grey carpet, which looked like that dog had perhaps died on it some point long in the past. It smelled that way too.

The door creaked open, squealing as if trying to pull its own hinges out of the wall. The room was no more enthralling than the hallway. Peeling pink wallpaper with a motif of curly magenta flowers covered every available bit of wall, while the bed was half collapsed, and the duvet was like something out of a science lab. The mould research part of a science lab. It was grey and furry, and Mulder seriously hoped that it was actually a duvet, and not just something that had taken up residence on his bed. After a long minute of thought, he took the chance of touching it and, after suffering no ill effects, he ripped it off the bed and stowed it in the tiny closet.

There was one good thing about the room: it had a television. Truth to be told, it did have a window as well, but all that could be seen through it was the street, a couple of cars, and plenty of grey clouds. But it was the TV that Mulder wanted, so he sat on the cover-less bed, and turned it on.

That was another good thing: the TV actually worked. Mulder set to work plugging in the VHS player, as someone had kindly unplugged it before he had arrived, and pulled a video out of his overnight bag. Not that this was looking like just an overnight stay, but he had no idea of that when he had packed. He hoped they had a laundry service at this hotel, though, judging by the state of the room, he might just want to go find a private Laundromat. It would probably much safer.

Scully was off performing an autopsy, so that left him with a few hours to himself, and he wasn't going to waste that time. First, he had used his badge in copious amounts to acquire some footage from security cameras around the scene of the crime, and then he had bought a book on witchcraft. The book was far more interesting to him, but he supposed that he should start with the tangible evidence first.

He slotted the first video into the player, and settled down to watch. He had no idea of when the crime had taken place, so there was a hell of a lot of footage to sit through, even with the video playing on fast forward.

If Mulder hadn't been so busy watching the security footage and flipping through his book on witchcraft, he might have just caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, something dark flitting across the street outside. A creature like no other on the Earth, or indeed, the universe. A creature that had been chased by the Doctor and Donna across time and space, eluding them at every turn. It had come to New York to hide and to feed, and New York was where this game of cat and mouse was going to finish.


	4. Factory Outlet

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait....ummm, that's a really bad excuse for not uploading a chapter for over a MONTH. So, yeah. This was a chapter that went through about ten re-writes before it finally got finished. I shall attempt to update on a more regular basis.

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Chapter Four: Factory Outlet

"Did you see it Donna? Did you see where it went?"

The Doctor and Donna were crouched behind a stairwell amid a tangled mess of pipes, ventilation and rusted machinery. They were in a factory somewhere near the docks; at least, Donna thought that's where they were. She wasn't so sure anymore. It had felt like they had run for a mile through disused corridors and over rattling catwalks. Donna had never known it before, but her Time Lord was scared of heights! Fancy that, a centuries-old alien, afraid of a little bit of height.

"I think it went that way," she whispered, pointing up the stairs, not really sure where the creature had gotten to. "I'm not sure though."

The Doctor grimaced, and pulled his revamped detector out of his coat pocket. "Ah, it's wet," he complained, slapping it against the railing that ran along the edge of the stairs. "Why does nothing ever work when it's wet?" The device, which looked like a cross between a mobile phone and a video game controller (and may have been those things at one point in time) started flashing with an exited blue light.

"Now we're in business!" the Doctor exclaimed, tracking the scanner around the room. Donna couldn't hear any difference in the sound of the beeps, but the Doctor obviously could, because he pointed in a random direction, and shouted, "This way!"

"Running, again?" Donna complained, following the Time Lord as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. "Why can't we just, I dunno, set an ambush for once?"

The Doctor glanced back at Donna. "An ambush?" he cried, sweeping his scanner around the top of the stairwell. "Where's the fun in that? You've got to get the adrenaline pumping through your veins, now that's real adventure."

"Adventure for you perhaps," Donna muttered grumpily, allowing herself to be dragged first one way, and then the other. If she didn't know better, she was sure the Doctor was trying to pull her arm out of her socket. He was pretty close to succeeding too.

Then she was shoved into a crawlspace that was definitely not made for human egress. Cold metal digging into her, she started to complain loudly, but before she could form a word, the Doctor clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Ssshh," he whispered, "it's out there."

"Then why don't we go out there and get it?" Donna whispered back, after prising his surprisingly strong hand off of her mouth. "We could solve all our problems, and then it's off to the beaches of Alpha Centauri just like you promised."

"Do you want to get your face sucked off?" the Doctor pointed out. Donna shook her head. "Good, then shut up and listen to me. I'm the Time Lord; I know how to deal with a Drusildee."

"Whatever," Donna responded harshly; folding her arms as best she could in the enclosed space they were in. She was starting to get annoyed with this whole venture. When she though New York, she thought: Statue of Liberty, Central Park, skyscrapers, busy roads. Instead she got: rain, dingy street corners, rain, dingy old warehouses, rain, dingy enclosed spaces, and did she mention the rain? It wasn't exactly the most enthralling holiday she had ever been on. The package trip to Egypt had been better than 1990's New York. Plus, there was a killer alien roaming about, sucking people's faces off. It didn't quite make for your usual day out. Then again, most days with the Doctor weren't your usual day out.

The device in the Doctor's hand started whining, and she felt the Time Lord stiffen. "Oh," he said, and Donna could just imagine the surprised look on his face, "I see you've found us. Sorry we can't stay and chat, I actually have a rather urgent appointment with, um…Donna, run!"

Donna knew not argue. In these kinds of situations, she knew every moment could be your last. She took off through the crawlspace, shuffling along as fast as her elbows and knees could carry her. It didn't help that the Doctor was shouting at her to hurry up, pushing at her from behind. She could just make out the sound of something wet flopping along the crawlspace after them.

Then she was out in the open, teetering above a complex array of clanking machinery. The Doctor pushed at her from behind, and she tumbled to the floor, slamming down on to the concrete with just enough force to graze her arms. He landed on top of her, surprisingly heavy for such a skinny bloke. He was already on his feet again before she even had a chance to recover, dragging her off into the swivelling robotic arms of a construction line.

They had reverted to the Doctor's main strategy: run. If in doubt, run away. If whatever you were running from was friendly, you could apologise later, but if it was hostile, well, you've probably just saved your backside from being smeared across the floor. In this case, Donna decided that running was appropriate.

Whatever was chasing them was making a hell of a racket; continuous hissing and abundant crashes indicated that the pursuer was close behind them. The Doctor led the way through the veritable maze of machinery and conveyor belts, dragging Donna along what she felt like was the most convoluted route known to man, beast, alien and variation thereupon.

Then, she raised her hand to shield herself from the rain as they stumbled out onto the street. Everything looked normal – a couple of cars were puttering along the road half-heatedly, throwing up small plumes of water. The Doctor held up his alien detector, squinting at the whirring chunk of metal for a long while.

"It's moved off," he said finally. "Gave up on chasing us."

Donna, slowly catching her breath, glared at him with contempt. "I have no idea why," she growled, splashing water from the gutter over his white sneakers.

He frowned at her churlishness, and returned his attention to his detector. "Well, it's still close enough to track. How about we get this over and done with, before our alien friend kills again, hmm?" Without waiting for an answer, he started to stride of down the street, holding the detector out in one hand, and plunging his other deep into his trouser pocket.

With a sigh, Donna Noble followed him. What else was she to do?


	5. Further Ruminations on Hotel Rooms

**A/N: "Finally, another chapter," I hear you all cry. Scully POV, as requested by WeepingAngel123. Please enjoy!

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Chapter Five: Further Ruminations on Hotel Rooms

With the jangling of keys, Scully locked the car the FBI had provided her for the duration of her stay in New York, and peered at the dump of a hotel Mulder had picked out. He had the whole of New York to choose from, and it seemed like her partner had taken it upon himself to discover the crappiest hotel in the entire state of New York. Great.

It was a dump. That was the only way to describe it. Old paint was peeling off the walls, but at least all the windows were in good repair, if blacked out by heavy curtains. Any number of watchful eyes could be waiting behind those curtains, but Scully was not about to let Mulder's paranoia infect her. She'd had enough of that after the death of Deep Throat, and it didn't really suit her.

Trees with drooping branches surrounded the shoddy hotel, lending at atmosphere that could be considered quaint by some. Obviously, those kind of people also liked to hang around it graveyards and were probably shunned by normal society because of it. Sounded like someone she knew.

The receptionist behind the counter was unhelpful as well as being tired and grumpy, and it took quite a bit of suggestion on Dana's part to convince her to remember the man who had come in a few hours ago, and rented two rooms.

"Oh yeah," she said at last, fighting to keep drooping eyes open, "there was a man in a nice suit. Came in and rented two rooms, 314 and 315. Just up those stairs over there. If you don't mind, it's the end of my shift…"

As Scully made her way up the incredibly steep staircase, she hoped that she didn't make any enemies while she was here. She hadn't even had to show her badge to get that information.

The corridor at the top of the stairs fitted in with the rest of the building. Peeling wallpaper and a stained carpet were showcased for all to see. There was also a scuffed end table displaying a plastic plant which, on close inspection, appeared to be doing a very good impression of a dead plant.

Rooms 314 and 315 were right down the end of the hall, opposite a mirror that had seen one too many unsightly faces. 314 was quiet, but Scully could make out the sounds of a television program coming from 315, so she first knocked, then entered upon discovering that the door was unlocked.

Mulder smiled at her from his position on the horizontally challenged bed, and waved a packet of potato crisps at her. "Care for lunch?"

Without even bothering to shake her head, Scully pulled up a chair and raised an eyebrow at the book sitting on the table. "You think witches are responsible for this murder?" she asked, holding up her partner's newly purchased book.

"At first, but now I'm not so sure – whoa, did you see that?" He grinned at Scully, but her scowl took the smile off his face.

"My team's playing," he said in way of explanation, but he turned the TV off anyway. Best not to annoy his mildly sleep-deprived partner. "So, what have you found?" he asked, crumpling up the chip packet and lobbing it into the bin.

Scully removed some papers from her bag, and handed them to Mulder. "When you said his identity had been stolen Mulder, I think you were right," she began, recalling one of the most unusual autopsies she had performed. "It wasn't just the face that was missing, it was the fingerprints too. Basically anything that defined the victim as an individual was completely removed. Even his DNA was breaking down."

Mulder responded to that comment with a surprised look, but refrained from commenting.

"We did manage to get a positive ID on the body, but that was only because he had his driver's licence in his pocket," Scully continued. "A Mr. Jeremy Thomas, forty-three years old, recent divorce, history of –"

"Drinking problems?" Mulder supplied, jumping off the bed to turn the TV on again.

"Yes, how did you know?"

He gave Scully a wink and turned the video player on. "While you were having fun with the stiff, I was watching some surveillance footage. Enthralling stuff. We should watch it more often."

_Like we don't watch enough already,_ Scully thought to herself while nodding for Mulder to continue. His look said that he knew exactly what she was thinking about, but he pressed play anyway.

The surveillance footage was a rather unexciting black and white tape of a street, and the numbers ticking over in the corner proclaimed that it had been recorded last night. It was a pretty ordinary street; a few shops nestled between residential flats, with the opening to an alleyway just visible behind a couple of large dumpsters.

A couple of cars shot through the picture, tyres shooting up plumes of water high into the air. Mulder froze the image, and pointed out a figure.

"That's our man," he said, resuming the tape, and watching the man stumble along the footpath, quite drunk, round the dumpsters and disappear into the alleyway.

An uneventful minute passed, and Scully opened her mouth, but Mulder shushed her objection before it had even begun.

"Just watch," was the only explanation he provided when she shot him a questioning look.

It wasn't long before two figures ran out of the alleyway, and Mulder paused the tape again. "You think they killed Thomas?" Scully queried, gesturing at the television.

"Until another suspect presents, well, _itself_, they're the most likely choice," Mulder pointed out, flopping down on the bed in resignation. "I could really do with a pie right now," he started to say, but his mobile phone began to ring, so he abandoned that train of thought, and Scully watched as he first scrabbled around for his jacket and then for the pocket that contained his cellular phone.

"Mulder," he answered at last, gesturing for his partner to wait for a moment.

She folded her arms, and tried to avert her eyes from the garish floral wallpaper.

"Yes, okay. Another? We'll be there right away." Mulder slid the phone back into his pocket, and slung the jacket on over his shoulders. "Come on Scully, there's been another murder."

The two of them left the room, heading down to their cars. The still image remained on the television long after they left however, and little did they know, they were actually looking at the two people that would be able to catch their killer. And, as Donna would likely say, it was a rather unflattering image of her and her Time Lord friend.


	6. The Long Arm of the Law

**A/N: Wow, two chapters in a row! I must be really trying to finish this evil evil story. Anyway, please enjoy, as always. Bonus points for anyone who spots the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference.

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Chapter Six: The Long Arm of the Law

"You really have to commend the law enforcement agency in this city. I didn't even have time to inspect the body before they cordoned off the whole area." The Doctor tucked his hands behind his head and glanced over at Donna, who was sitting next to him. "What do you think?"

"I'm starving," she grumbled, "we missed breakfast."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the bustle of the crime scene across the road. He had underestimated the speed of the Drusildee, and had quickly lost the alien in the warren of twisting pathways that was New York's dock. By the time he and Donna had found the creature's second victim, it was too late. The Time Lord didn't even have enough time to take any readings from the body before the police showed up and blocked off the whole area. Someone must have called 911 before the TARDIS travellers had time to find the body.

So the Doctor had reverted to another one of his common strategies – watch. He had found a bench across the road and sat there with Donna, watching what the police were doing with a mild amount of interest. Well, that was what he was still doing.

How he wished UNIT was in control of this investigation, but they wouldn't gain much influence in America until the early twenty-first century. He could use his psychic paper to get into the crime scene, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself, not while everyone was on high alert. He wanted to keep things on the down-low. Less clean-up that way. Also meant less mention of aliens. First contact wasn't for another couple of years, and there was o reason to advance the schedule.

Donna poked him in the shoulder, pulling his mind off its fruitless train of thought.

"It's lunchtime," she pointed out, "and it's been a few thousand years since I've eaten."

"Can you stop thinking about your stomach for a couple of minutes? Something's happening over there." His companion huffed impatiently, so he added, "I'll take you to lunch after I'm finished here, okay? I know this nice little Italian place just down the road that does magnificent tortellini."

Donna seemed satisfied with this, leaving the Doctor to his spying. Two new cars had pulled up on the other side of the road, releasing one occupant apiece. The shorter one, a red-haired woman, was snapping on latex gloves and diving into the fray, leaving her taller companion behind. He was slow in following, being rather busy with handing out some kind of poster to all the police officers in the area.

When the Doctor caught sight of what was on the poster, he immediately leapt to his feet, dragging Donna with him. "We've got to get out of here," he started to say, but the damage was already done. They had been spotted.

The Doctor then made the mistake of making eye contact with Special Agent Fox Mulder, and the latter drew his gun in an instant, charging across the road like one born to chasing criminals, or at least, someone who'd done a lot of running.

"Go, Donna, go!" the Time Lord shouted, shoving his companion ahead of him while stretching his own legs into regular long strides. Unfortunately, with Donna in tow, he wouldn't have a chance of outrunning Mulder. Rassilon, but that man was fast for a human.

As soon as they were out of the FBI agent's sight, the Doctor made a point of opening up the nearest dumpster and forcing Miss Noble inside it. "Wait here," he said as he shut the heavy plastic lid. "I'll come back for you."

"You better, spaceman, or you'll get what's coming to you," was the muffled reply, but the Time Lord was already off down the road, Mulder having just rounded the corner.

"Stop! FBI!"

"No," the Doctor responded rather childishly as he sprinted off down the street, veering into an Asian restaurant at the last second. The sound of jangling Chinese music ringing in his ears, the Doctor delivered profuse apologies in Mandarin as he leapt through the small restaurant. A paper screen was torn asunder as he vaulted over a dining couple's soup. Pea and ham, it seemed.

Mulder was following close behind, knocking fake potted plants askew and sending plates of fried rice flying across the room. Holstering his weapon to increase speed didn't seem to be working, so he took a short cut through the kitchens, trying to catch up to the elusive Time Lord. He dipped, ducked and dived to avoid cooks, oils and hanging pots alike, knocking over a trolley of freshly made spring rolls in the process. He then managed to catch his foot on a table leg just as he burst back into the main restaurant, sending himself crashing to the floor. But, as he fell, his fingers caught hold of the Doctor's ankle as the Time Lord dashed past, pulling the alien down to the carpet.

For a moment here, neither of them moved, and many of the patrons backed away, leaving a wide, empty circle around the two of them.

"Whatever it was, I had nothing to do with it," the Doctor insisted suddenly, leaping to his feet in an instant.

Mulder rose slowly, resting one hand on the grip of his pistol. "Then why did you run?"

"Because I like running?" the Doctor offered cautiously. "That's not going to work, is it?"

Fox shook his head. "No."

"Hell's Donkeys, what does a man have to do to get some peace in this universe?" the Time Lord cursed, taking a subtle step towards a large potted plant. "Now, I really have to fly. I have a friend that I left in a dumpster, quite literally, and she probably won't be well pleased about that. If you could just leave your name and number, I'll get back to you."

Mulder took a step forward. "Sir, I think you'll have to come with me."

The Doctor looked taken aback. "Oh," he said in surprise, "well, that's a shame." And, with a mock salute, he dove through the pot plant and disappeared. Mulder kicked a chair in frustration just as Scully ran into the restaurant, rather belatedly.

"What happened?" she asked. "Did you get him?"

"No, he got away," he mumbled, adjusting his jacket with a sigh.

Scully bit her lip. "Let's go get lunch then. By the way, it looks like you have some rice just above your eyebrow. Yes, that's got it."


	7. Dude, Where's my Spaceship?

**A/N: Finally, the plot is actually going somewhere. And I actually wrote something.

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Chapter Seven: Dude, where's my Spaceship?

"Come on, tell me again, Doctor, tell me what happened again."

The alien frowned as his companion jabbed him in the ribs. "It's not like that," he grumbled, jumping out of her reach. "You should have seen the look on his face, that's all."

Donna gave him a very believable mock pout. "Oh, but I love to hear you tell stories over and over and over and over and over and…"

"Alright, I get the picture," he cried out, increasing his pace, if only to get right out of kicking range. "I'm sorry for telling you the story a hundred times. I am also sorry for locking you in a dumpster for twenty minutes." He yelped as a pencil connected with the back of his head. "What was that for?" he complained.

"For locking me in a dumpster for longer than twenty minutes."

The Doctor threw his hands up in a gesture of dismay. "Alright," he admitted, "I'm sorry I locked you in a dumpster for forty minutes, but I well, I…I forgot which dumpster it was."

Donna grinned in victory. "Go on, say it again."

He just rolled his eyes in response, and dug the key to the TARDIS out of his pocket as they rounded the corner. He paused mid-step, looking around in confusion. "Where's the TARDIS? I'm sure this was where we left it?"

"Maybe you got it wrong? Left it around the next corner perhaps," Donna suggested, walking past the stricken Time Lord after giving him another stab in the ribs. "Come on spaceman, let's go have a look."

He frowned, but dutifully followed her, feeling ever more like a puppy that followed its master around everywhere. Actually, that reminded him – he really missed K-9. How hard would it to be to build a new model, he wondered. If he had some spare time, he would definitely have a go at it, just to see that cute waggy tail again.

The two time travellers circled the block a few times, and quite a few of the other nearby streets, but there were no blue police boxes, disguised TARDISes or otherwise. "She's gone," the Doctor lamented once they had returned to the spot where the TARDIS was no longer parked. "She's been stolen!"

Donna sighed. "Great. Your time travelling box has been nicked. Anyone want to bet it was our squid alien….thing."

"Drusildee," the Doctor corrected automatically. "And yeah, I'd bet it was. Any alien with a time travelling device of its own is generally attracted to my TARDIS." He muttered something to himself about 'idiot giant squids' and launched an empty plastic bottle across the road with a well-placed knock from his foot. "This day just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

A car zipped past, the driver hardly sparing a glance for the two figures stranded on the sidewalk. Donna watched the shiny blue vehicle disappear around the corner. "Snob," she remarked, before turning back to everyone's favourite Time Lord. "So, what do we do now?"

"We, uh…" the Doctor began, obviously at a loss for words. "We could, well……go for Chinese?"

Donna raised an impetuous eyebrow. "When in doubt, eat," she said. "Isn't that a human thing to do?"

"But I thought you were hungry!"

"I was, but now that the TARDIS has disappeared, I think we ought to get it back, don't you?"

The Doctor scratched his head self-consciously. "Umm, yeah. Good idea."

Donna jerked her head, indicating for him to lead. 'Well, come on then, spacemen. Got an ambush plan up your sleeve, or do I have to come up with it myself?"

"Ambush," the Doctor sniffed. "Where's the fun in that? No running involved."

His companion rolled her eyes. "If you hadn't noticed, all of your running plans don't really seem to be working."

"All right," the Doctor sighed. "We'll go with your ambush plan. First, we're going to need bait, and luckily for us, I know exactly what a Drusildee will like." He grinned, and took Donna by the arm. "Let's go shopping."

"First good thing you've said all day!"


	8. Mysteries Unfold

**A/N: I have finally worked out an ending for this story, so I'll be able to finish this faster. You should all be happy about that, shouldn't you?

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Chapter Eight: Mysteries Unfold

Agent Fox Mulder sure knew how to make an entrance. He could kick in a door, guns blazing, FBI identification shoved in the face of whoever least wanted to see it. Many criminals were safely in jail because of him, countless so-called 'spooky' cases has been solved by his antics and unique investigative style, people saved due to his actions. But, despite all his know-how and can-do attitude, he wasn't expecting to burst through a door, gun at the ready, right into a scientific research facility.

With a nod of his head, he sent Scully off to the left through a second door, while he raced straight down the main hallway, both hands holding his gun straight ahead of him. There were papers strewn all over the floor, and there were traces of some kind of, well, goo, along the walls. He paused to prod it with his fingers, sniffing the sticky stuff that came away on his fingers. It had a fishy odour. It had to be the same stuff he'd found in the alleyway that morning. The stuff, in fact, that he'd sent to this very research facility for testing.

He moved forward, rounding a corner, when the whole room tumbled askew, the ceiling replacing the wall as the surface in front of his vision. His training immediately kicked in, and he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being brained by a large red fire extinguisher. The weapon came up for another swing –

"Oh God! Agent Mulder?"

Fox rose to his feet, slotting his gun into his holster. "Yeah, thanks for asking before you attack," he grumbled, retrieving the fire extinguisher from the obviously violent lab technician. "What happened here? I got your call."

The technician shrugged. "I have no idea. I think something attacked us, but whatever happened, it wiped our records clean."

"Which records?" Mulder asked, eyeing the technician for any further outbursts of violent behaviour.

"All of them."

A door further down the corridor burst open, and Mulder instinctively raised the fire extinguisher up in self-defence. "Mulder?" Scully raised an eyebrow at her partner. "I don't know what you have been doing, but I think you should take a look at this." Fox took a glance at the technician, who shrugged. The FBI agent returned the gesture, chucked the extinguisher aside with a flippant twitch of his hands and followed Dana into the room ahead.

It was a complete mess. Paper had replaced the carpet as the chosen floor covering, and it looked like some over-zealous interior decorator had decided that the lighting fixtures would looked better draped with ticker-tape. Sparks drizzled from cables that had apparently been torn straight out of the ceiling. A fine coating of plaster was elegantly drizzled across the computer monitors and lab equipment, which had been wrecked with a certain haphazard completeness.

But the worst thing was the body.

Scully was kneeling next to it when Mulder finally finished his approach, looking down at the face that wasn't there. "It's just like the others," she said with a shake of her head. "What could do this Mulder?"

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "I just don't know." He turned to the lab technician, who was huddled on the outskirts of the room, fire extinguisher in his hands again. "Do you know what happened here?" Fox asked as he picked his way over.

"We were attacked!"

"Yes, but by what?" Mulder asked, taking the fire extinguisher again, and placing it on a desk out of reach of the technician. "Did you see who it was?"

The man sank down into a chair, head in hands. "I don't know," he sighed. 'I don't know what I saw. I remember that the power to the computers cut out, and they sent Keira to go see what was wrong. A few minutes later, we heard a scream." He ran a hand through his hair, distressed. "I won't lie to you, mister Mulder. I ran. I hid. I'm sure I wasn't the only one. I called you once I saw what had happened."

"So you didn't see anything?" Mulder clarified.

"No. Well, not really."

Scully looked up from where she was examining the body. "Not really?"

The technician looked up at Fox. "They say you believe all that spooky stuff. Aliens and things?" he said, hope creeping into his voice. "What I saw wasn't human. I only saw it for a second, but there was no way that thing could have been human."

As Mulder knelt down next to the spooked man, Scully rose up in the background, her usual sceptic look softened by curiosity. "What did you see?" Fox asked forcefully. "What was it you saw?"

"It was a monster," the technician said, and they could get nothing else out of him on the matter. However, when Mulder was just about to turn away disappointed, the man drew a single sheet of plastic out of his pocket. "I did manage to save this. I had it in my hands when I ran off, without even realising."

Mulder took it, and stared at the small black bars in amazement.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" the technician said.

Fox shrugged. "Actually, I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to be looking at," he replied, handing the sheet over his shoulder to Scully.

"Mulder, this is fascinating!" she said, staring at the printed marks.

Her partner nodded. "Mmm, so I've heard."

"No, but look Mulder," she insisted, sometimes wishing he would stop being such a child when it came to scientific matters. "It's the DNA test that was run on that sample you sent here."

Mulder visibly straightened. "Oh?"

"Yes," Scully grumbled, shoving the plastic under his nose. "Look at it! It's deteriorating."


	9. A Decidedly Fishy Rendezvous

**A/N: Yeah, umm, random chapter title I know, but you'll just have to live with it .... any update is a good update, right? ... Right?

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Chapter Nine: A Decidedly Fishy Rendezvous

Mulder snatched the sheet out of Scully's hands. "Deteriorating? What do you mean it's deteriorating? How can that be possible?"

Scully took the sheet back out of Mulder's hands with a scowl. "A simple 'please' would have sufficed," she sniffed. "And I meant exactly what I said. This DNA is constantly breaking down." She looked over at the lab technician, who pointed at Mulder in response to her unspoken question. "Alright," Scully said, not at all surprised. "Where did you get it from Mulder?"

"Its evidence from that first crime scene we visited," he explained, sneakily nabbing the printout and holding it up to the light. "I found some goo on the wall, and sent it off to be analysed."

Scully didn't look convinced. "Goo?"

"Yes, that's what I said," Mulder shot back, handing the plastic sheet to the now completely confused lab technician. "Look, over here!" Scully followed him over to one of the computer monitors, where he was running his finger along the surface of the desk. He then thrust the finger in her direction. "Go on, smell it."

"I'm not smelling your finger, Mulder."

"Stop complaining and just smell it!"

Scully gave in, and took a sniff.

Mulder stared at her. "And…?"

"It smells like your fridge, Mulder," she admitted. "With maybe a slight whiff of unwashed dock worker."

"Exactly!" Mulder exclaimed thrusting his finger up into the air. But his face fell when her words actually sunk in. "My fridge doesn't smell like month-old fish, does it?" Scully responded with a nod. "Oh. Perhaps I should clean it out every once in a while. What I was trying to say was-"

"Guys," the technician piped up, "there's something else about this sheet you should see." Mulder and Scully both turned to him, the former with his finger still sticking up in the air. "Look at this chromosome here." The technician held the sheet up, and pointed to one particular mark on the plastic readout.

Scully leaned in closer. "But that's impossible…"

"Exactly," the technician said, echoing Mulder's words. "Not a single living thing on the whole of Earth has that chromosome. By all rights, it shouldn't exist. What we're looking at is a previously undocumented form of life!"

Mulder snatched the sheet again (getting to be a bit of habit, isn't it?), and stared at it closely. "Do you know what this means, Scully? Proof of alien life! This sheet here is the proof we need!"

"I didn't say alien life," the technician pointed out. "I just said a previously undiscovered form of life."

Mulder, however, was not listening. "We can prove it now! We can prove that aliens actually do exist!" But before he could rashly run off and immediately prove it to someone, his phone rang, and he reluctantly answered, tucking the printout into his pocket for safekeeping. "Mulder," he said into the mobile. "Yes, we can be there right away. You did the right thing. Good job. Alright." He hung up, and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Scully, our two suspects have been spotted."

His partner raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Where?"

"The Golden Globe Hotel," Mulder said. "And while I don't think they killed Mr. Thomas, I have a feeling they might know who did."

Approximately fifteen minutes later, the two FBI agents pulled up outside the Golden Globe Hotel, which didn't seem too bad, as far as dockside hotels went. It was clean, which was a plus, but it smelt a little bit like unwashed dock worker and air freshener, which wasn't so good. Standing at the stairs, doing his best to appear nondescript while at the same time keeping a close eye on the staircase was a single police officer. He spotted the two FBI agents, and waved them over.

"Where are they?" Mulder asked as they approached the officer.

The policeman pointed up the stairs. "Fifth floor, room 502. Are they –" he tried to say, but Mulder and Scully were already off and running up the stairs as soon as they'd heard the room number. They reached floor five without trouble, both slipping their guns out of their holsters. Mulder lead the way, counting along the doors until he was standing opposite room 502. He nodded for his partner to stand next to the door, while he positioned himself straight in front.

Then he wrinkled his nose. "Can you smell-"

"Yeah," Scully finished for him, "tuna."

Mulder frowned, steadied his gun, and aimed his foot at the door. But before he could let loose a kick, the door swung inwards, and a friendly face grinned at him from underneath a mop of unruly brown hair.

"'Allo," the man said, with a distinct British accent, "I'm the Doctor. You must be Agents Mulder and Scully, yes?" He stepped aside, and gestured for them to come inside. "Do come in, and join us for a cuppa."

"Doctor –" Mulder began, but the Time Lord was going to have none of it. He grabbed the FBI agent, dragged him inside, and sat him down in a chair. A woman with flaming red hair smiled at him as she pushed a steaming cup of tea across the table, her expression saying 'please forgive him, he can be a bit of an over-excited child sometimes'. Scully entered of her own free will, but didn't sit down in case things got nasty. Even though Mulder was sure they were innocent, she wasn't so quick to jump to conclusions. They were still their best suspects after all.

It was then that they noticed the walls. It appeared that they were completely covered in…

"Tuna?" Mulder said, entirely at a loss for anything else to say.


End file.
